It’s one thing to forgive the unrelenting sexism as an inherent part of the genre. Hard-boiled noir demands references to “dames” and femmes fatales because the whole form is a testament to our fallen state.

Born in the shadow of the Second World War, film noir and the hard-boiled pulp Frank Miller references throughout these extravagantly violent and hyperbolically stupid Sin City movies are an expression of resigned cynicism in the face of evil. Civilization is coming undone, and so are the women: a sure sign of social decay. And while some of the characters continue to have a moral conscience, they recognize the godless universe may well be indifferent to their pathetic heroism.

Yet, they continue to struggle, and therein lies the human victory. It’s Shakespeare with guns, cleavage and cuss words — everything a moviegoer could ever really expect. But in Frank Miller’s muddled canvas called A Dame to Kill For, all we really get is cleavage and Mickey Rourke with a jutting jaw.

The cleavage comes largely care of Jessica Alba, Rosario Dawson and Eva Green, three women brave enough to get down and dirty as the hyper-sexualized objects of desire and inevitable destruction. Wearing their dominatrix latex with a hint of irony, they surrender to the insanity that surrounds them every second, whether it’s dancing another striptease while the camera caresses their lady bumps or stepping on Josh Brolin’s neck with a stiletto.

They’re in a vintage sedan, taking the crazy ride through Miller’s mix of two- and three-dimensional space that gives the movie a decidedly interesting texture. It really looks like a period graphic novel that’s been brought to life through the magic of technology. And that’s what it is, which is why there’s a lingering sense of teen angst and pimply lust rippling beneath the frames.

Despite the gory violence and the frequent female nudity, there is nothing truly adult about the content. Every character speaks in sentences short enough to fit in a single panel, and their ability to process information seems to depend on what, or who, is standing in the same frame.

The only smart person in the movie is the chief villainess, Green, who sinks her teeth so deeply into the decor it bleeds. And the only truly likable character is Rourke’s Marv, the 300-pound bodyguard who has no fear. When these two are on the screen, the movie is undeniably entertaining. But there are at least a dozen other chunky parts filled by good actors such as Brolin and Joseph Gordon-Levitt, which makes most of the storytelling feel random — at best.

Needlessly confusing and narratively fractured, the only real sin in this movie is the lost potential. Miller had two solid characters who would have provided a childish, but engaging, story about love and revenge. But unable to contain his desire to draw new characters, the story hemorrhages all over the page, leaving the viewer knee-deep in cartoon blood, laden by a latent desire to groan.

By Ron Seymour KELOWNA — The gangster accused of ordering the killing of Jonathan Bacon was in a good...

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